Every week
by calgarry
Summary: John Watson still goes to his best friend's grave every week. This is what he says. Most of the post-Reichenbach stories are really sad and angsty, so this one is slightly more light-hearted. Only slightly though, so be warned.
1. Week 1

You told me once that you weren't a hero. There were times I didn't even think you were human, but let me tell you this: you were the best man, and the most human...human being that I've ever known and no-one will ever convince me that you told me a lie.

I was so alone, and I owe you so much.

Okay.

No, please, there's just one more thing, mate, one more thing: one more miracle, Sherlock, for me. Don't be...dead. Would you do that? Just for me, just stop this.

**I would like to say that this actually came from a transcript of the episode, from the Ariana DeVere blog. Unfortunately I can't post a link here, but I advise you to look at it if you need help on quotes from any of the episodes. It's on a website called livejournal, try looking it up on Google.**


	2. Week 2

Um, hello.

God, this feels silly. Talking to a stone. What have I become, eh?

I suppose I should come and visit you, though. Even you don't know. Oh, God. Excuse me for a minute…

I'm back now. Sorry. I told myself I wasn't going to cry.

I had something to talk about, but I can't remember what…

Oh, yes. Where is it again? Here, in my pocket. Take a look at this! This stupid newspaper article, in this stupid newspaper. 'John Watson, the grieving widow'. They've got a nerve! Grieving widow, indeed. I should get Mycroft to talk to them.

That's another point. I've been expecting Mycroft to kidnap me any day now. It's about time, and what with, you know…anyway, I'd have thought he'd have 'spoken' to me by now. Any ideas why he hasn't?

I suppose he doesn't need to check up on you any more.

Look, I need to go now. I'm sorry. I'll come back next week. I promise.

Goodbye. I didn't say that last time, not properly.

So goodbye, Sherlock.


	3. Week 3

Hello again.

It's not so strange, this time. I'm not talking to a stone. I'm talking to you.

Everybody's been treating me as if I'm fragile, like I'm going to break. I'm not going to. But they won't listen.

I had a visit from Greg a couple of days ago. While I made tea, he stepped out the kitchen for a minute. I thought he'd gone to the bathroom or something, but last night I found that my gun was missing. He must have thought I was going to top myself or something.

For the record, I was only looking at my gun to check it was there. It's a ritual now. I check all the important things, make sure they're still there. I bet if I told Ella, she'd link it to some deep-down psychological idea that I don't want to lose anything else in my life.

Mumbo-jumbo, if you ask me. I'm fine. Believe me. Absolutely fine…

No, I'm not crying. John Watson, you are not crying. Not again…

I…I have to go now. I'll be back next week.

Bye, Sherlock.


	4. Week 4

Hi there.

It's me again. As usual. Do you mind if I sit down this time, actually? My leg's starting to hurt again.

I wonder, do you get any other visitors? I haven't seen anyone else here, only me and Mrs Hudson. And she seems to have stopped coming now.

I'm going to keep coming, though. Every Sunday, 1145 hours.

Speaking of which, I had a visit from Mrs Hudson today. I don't think she likes my flat much, because she said I should move back to 221B. I don't much like my flat either, but I didn't give her an answer. Not yet.

I might move back. Do you think I should? I think there will be too many memories. And that smiley face…that damned smiley face is still there, apparently. Mrs Hudson said she didn't move any of your stuff, either. So that skull of yours – Horatio, or Yorick, or whatever you called it – that's there, and the violin, and everything…

You know what? I think I will move back in. I need to face it sooner or later. And besides, I'm sure Mrs Hudson could do with the rent money. And otherwise she'd just have all that stuff, just lying around…yeah, I'll move back. That's what I'll do.

Thanks for the idea, Sherlock. I should go now, let Mrs Hudson know so that I can move in during the week.

Goodbye then. See you next Sunday.


	5. Week 5

Hello again, Sherlock.

Well, I moved back into 221B. Mrs Hudson was thrilled to have me back, of course. To be honest, I was sort of glad to be back.

It was hard at first, but then I was alright. Well, I say at first. Actually it took about four days. Mrs Hudson's being really sweet to me, as usual. She must have brought up at least five different types of baking, just this weekend. She's still having troubles with her phone, so she's glad I'm around to help.

Oh, and Mycroft came on Friday. He sat down and ate a lot of cake, and we talked awkwardly for a bit. After he left, I realised the ashtray was missing. You know, the one from the Palace? Now that's cool, being able to talk about things 'from the Palace'.

Anyway, I have good reason to believe that he took it; namely, that it was there about ten minutes before he arrived, I checked. D'you think I should try and get it back? I think I will. Yeah, I'll confront him about it next time I see him.

God, sometimes I wish you were here. You could get it back easily, I'm sure. He probably wouldn't have dared to take it if you were there.

You know something funny? I do miss you, but not as much as I thought I would. You know, the five stages of grief and all that – denial, bargaining, and acceptance. But I honestly haven't been through all that. Or not in the way I thought I would. I think…I think that I know there must have been some other reason. Because I know you're not a fake. Weren't a fake. You can't have been, despite what you said. So I haven't been crying as much as I thought I would. As other people think I should. Is that normal? I suppose I would know. I'm the doctor, after all.

Speaking of which, Sarah started speaking to me again on Thursday. For some reason, I think she took offence to that 'grieving widow' comment in the paper. Seemed to think there was something between us. There wasn't, of course. Not like that. We were friends. But nobody will believe that…it's infuriating.

Anyway, I must be off. Er, Sarah kind of asked me out for lunch. If I'm late because I was talking to you, that'll basically erase about three weeks' work in that area. No offence or anything, but...you know.

See you next Sunday then.


	6. Week 6

**A/N: I'd like to quickly say thank you to Rebel Against The Plaid Skirt/mysterious-fiolee, who reviewed my story, and wrote a very good one herself. Thank you for your review.**

**Also, sorry I can't reply to all the reviews I get, but I am very busy a lot of the time. Thank you to all the people who followed/favourited/reviewed! I am glad you like the story, and will try to keep up to your expectations.**

* * *

Hi, Sherlock.

I would ask you how it's going, but…you know.

Sorry if I'm a bit sluggish this morning. I was out late with Greg last night at the pub. I think I may have woken Mrs Hudson up on my way in. I hope I didn't.

I've actually had quite a busy week. Sarah and I are together again - I think. She keeps saying weird things, and to be honest I'm not sure. I just don't get women. You're lucky. You never had a girlfriend to try and understand.

Anyway, so I'm meeting her for dinner today at Angelo's. He's not very happy with the two of us going out, so I'm not sure how it'll go this evening. He still thinks that you and I were together. In fact, he's got that article from the paper – that stupid 'grieving widow' one – up on the wall by the counter. I think it might be safest if I pay today, don't you?

What else? Oh yes, of course. Mycroft came around again, a couple of days ago. He ate most of the cake Mrs Hudson baked that morning, which was quite an achievement as she'd made it for her friend Marie's birthday. She had to make another one. But we had the last laugh: I nicked Mycroft's credit card while he was in the flat, and gave it to her to pay for the decorations for the cake.

I know, I know. I shouldn't steal, especially not from your brother, and all that. But you'd have done the same, wouldn't you? Nah, actually, you'd have had the presence of mind to hide the cake or something first. I don't know why I didn't think of that, actually. I guess I'm not you.

That reminds me. When I was out last night with Greg, he made some comment about me doing your job for the police. He must have been joking, right? He was quite drunk at the time. Admittedly, so was I. That's probably why I said yes. I mean, I can't look at someone and know fifty things about them like you can. Could. And my cheekbones aren't smart enough.

All right. That wasn't funny. Sorry. I'm hungover, alright?

Hey, I just remembered! Your brother made some comment about there being a lot of unsolved cases at the Yard. I wonder, have he and Greg have been talking? I wouldn't be surprised, to be honest. People seem to be forever talking about me behind my back.

I'll give it a go, see how I go. Only time will tell, I guess.

I should probably go, try and get rid of this hangover before dinner-time. Ugh!

See you.


	7. Week 7

Hi, Sherlock. How're things?

Sorry, I'll have to make it a shortish visit this time. I don't want to catch pneumonia in this damned rain. Had that once, actually. Not pleasant.

It's been raining like this all week, just solid, heavy rain. I borrowed this umbrella from Mrs Hudson, mine's gone missing.

Oh, Mrs Hudson's sick! She's ben in bed for a couple of days now. I've been to see her a couple of time a day, and Marie from next door visits her all the time. Her lodgers also popped in once or twice, to see how she's doing. She's getting better, but she's bored.

I'm going to pick up a cake on the way home, and drop it in to her. What flavour do you think she'd like. Chocolate? Carrot? How about that nice banana one with lemon icing? Yeah, I'll get that one.

She'll like that. It's nice to do something for her, when she's been doing so much for me these past few weeks. Give something back to her. Other than fixing her phone, that is.

Wow, that rain's getting really heavy now. I should really go, before I catch my death. Oh dear, now I'm sounding like an old lady.

Bye then.


	8. Week 8

**A/N: Hi every one! Sorry it's been so long, I've had school and exams and that. I hope you enjoy this chapter, and please remember to review!**

* * *

Hi, Sherlock. Good thing that rain's stopped, isn't it? Your stone was almost swimming last time. Or drowning. Not sure which.

Funny, how I said, 'your stone' rather than 'your grave'. I think it's honestly easier to not think about it being a grave. It's more like you're still here, you're just a stone now. A stone that still won't buy the milk. But at least it's not annoying and arrogant.

See, now I'm personifying your gravestone. I think I am going crazy, Sherlock. Slowly but surely…

Anyway, I forgot to say last week. You know how Greg invited me to the Yard, to have a look at the cases? "Do a Sherlock," I think he said. Anyway, I went there to have a look. The thing was…I got to a few metres away from the door, but I couldn't do it. I couldn't go in. I just sort of did a U-turn and went straight back home again.

I meant to go back this week, but…it slipped my mind. I was going to, really I was.

I don't know why, I just…I don't know. I'm sorry. I almost feel like I've let you down now. I'll try again, I promise. I'll go tomorrow. Sorry, Sherlock.

Mrs Hudson's better, you'll be pleased to know. Or almost better, anyway. Just a little sniffle now. She loved that cake I got her. Thanks for the idea.

There have been a lot of people at the surgery after the storm. Too many people think they are invincible, that they can go out into the rain and not get sick. Sometimes, I just wish people would think before doing things.

I've broken up with Sarah, you'll be pleased to know. You never liked her that much, did you? I should have noticed. I realise it now, in the way you kept turning away from her when she came over. Anyway, it's over. I just got sick of her whining, really. She always wanted to be reassured that she was right, and that her dress did look good on her, and that her hair was perfect, and that she wasn't wearing too much lipstick…the list goes on. And on. And on...

We went to Angelo's, and I told her it was over halfway through the pudding. She got up and walked out, and left me with a large bill and a barely-eaten caramel pudding. It was worth it though. It'll be a bit awkward on Monday, at work. I'll have to try to avoid her.

I should be going, it's getting late. Mrs Hudson invited me down for lunch, and it's more than my life's worth to let her roast get cold.

See you next week.


	9. Week 9

**Sorry it's been so long since I updated, I've been busy with other things. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

* * *

Hi Sherlock, it's me again.

Of course it's me. I'm the only one who comes here, pretty much. Apart from Mrs Hudson.

You know something funny? Apparently when Mrs Hudson was here last week, she saw a strange person visiting you. A tall man with a long coat. She didn't see his face, so she couldn't tell who it was, and he'd gone before she got here. I wonder who that was? Strange.

Anyway, to business. Sarah's been ignoring me at work, which suits me just fine. There's a new guy there, Alan. He seems nice. I've been chatting with him at lunchtimes. He doesn't day much, but I've guessed that he doesn't talk to his family much, from his coat sleeves and the family photo on his wall. I guess you'd understand. Wow, I'm actually doing a Sherlock!

Speaking of which, I did eventually go and talk to Greg about that case. It was sort of awkward when I got into the Yard, Anderson and Donovan kept staring at me as if I shouldn't be there. Greg sent them away to go and do something, I don't know what. They have so many code words in that place, it's as if they're not talking English.

So I went in, and Greg presented me with a case immediately. Well, he presented me with a terrible coffee first, then a case. You would have liked it, actually. It's like a locked-room case, from some detective story. But this isn't a story. This is real.

The victim was a 33-year-old woman who lived alone. Her father died when she was young, her mother lives across town from her daughter. Only child, worked in the local post office as an accounts clerk. There's no visible cause of death when you look at her. She seems to have had a heart attack. But upon further inspection by the police, a small cut was found at the base of her skull. The results haven't come back from the autopsy yet, so we can't be certain what the cut was. But I want to solve this one without an autopsy, like you used to do. Like Lestrade said when I went to the Yard, I'm the next best thing.

Anyway, this woman. Her name was Sylvia O'Sullivan, should have mentioned that before. Her family was Irish a few generations back, that's why her name's Irish, but she was London born and bred. She was found by police in her bedroom after a concerned workmate reported her having not been at work for several days with no explanation. Her bedroom door was locked, as were all the windows in the room, from the inside. Her flat was also locked, with the key in the inside so no one could get in.

It seems harmless. The cut is shallow, probably banged it on the shower or something. But the Yard is investigating it for a reason, I'm sure. Besides, there's something off about the scene. Something wrong…

I saw all the photos taken by Forensics. She was lying with her eyes wide open, staring towards the window as if shocked about something. She can't have died of shock though, surely. Besides, the curtains were drawn, so she can't have seen something outside. The view from her window was of a blank brick wall, and she was three flights up from the ground. Sheer concrete wall, impossible to climb up. Practically impossible, anyway.

Sorry if this seems jumbled. My mind doesn't feel organised. It's all jumbled. There's too much in there at the moment. Is this what you felt like? Not towards the end, maybe, but at the start? How did you start solving crimes, anyway? Not like this, I'm sure.

There's so much about you I didn't know. You knew everything about me, even though I didn't tell you, but I know practically nothing about you. Who were you, Sherlock? Why did you jump? What were you trying to tell me?

I should go now, the groundskeeper's giving me the evil eye. But I will work it out, some day. I promise.

Hang on a moment. With Sylvia, maybe someone didn't have to come from below. What if they came from above? There wasn't a flat above, but there was a rooftop. I'll look into it. Thanks.

I'm not sure Lestrade and the Yard (heh, heh. Sorry) will believe me. I'll have another think and get back to you. I'll also have a look at the crime scene if I can. The case is only a week or so old, the apartment's been untouched. I'll have a look, and see what I can find. Yeah.

Bye then, Sherlock. See you next Sunday.


End file.
